


Namárië

by Elisif



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-28
Updated: 2013-12-28
Packaged: 2018-01-06 12:25:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1106787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elisif/pseuds/Elisif
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of the Kinslaying at Sirion, Maglor reflects on the death of his youngest brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Namárië

The falls had grown suddenly quiet; with the sharp draw of the tide, the surge had lessened, the torrents stilled themselves as if in memory of the countless dead to a dull and muted roar. The difference was striking; Maglor had had a vigil of a day and an eternity of a night by the riverside in which to grow accustomed to the steady shrieks of the falls, had in that time grown inured enough to their tireless song for this brief period of calm to pound painfully in his ears.  
Bent low by the river’s edge, Maglor did what he had long put off and began to wash his hands. Of the blood of all the men he had killed, and of the dirt from the grave he had dug for his baby brother only yesterday.  
The grave in which Ambarussa would never rest.  
It had been Maedhros’ decision; let him go to sea, he had said. Send our brother to where Father would not let him go.  
All rivers wound to the far expanses of the Western Sea. Eventually.  
They had laid a crown of white myrtle in his hair; they had kissed his cold hands, freed of blades and weapons, for a hope neither of them had dared express in words; they had sent him over the falls by the darkening starlight that to them was more home than the faithless sun would ever be; and with blood congealing on their hands, they had wept.  
For grief. For the brother condemned by his father’s hand to fire and to flame long ago, and for his ever-faithful shadow now sent with song alone on a journey to the depths of the weary sea.  
They had wept.  
For joy. For the sweet, merciful release from the horrors of the marred world so long denied to them that had at last been granted to their youngest brother in a rushed blur of blood, salt and tears. For the twins they prayed against all hope were now reunited in the Halls, a single soul once more as they had been in fair Valinor of old.  
Maglor had wept.  
For the realisation that he now had just one brother left to lose.  
He did not doubt that when the time came, it would be him doing the losing.  
Shuddering, he splashed a handful of icy water over his face, gasped and spluttered with the cold, lowered a cupped hand into the rippling waters once more. Eyes burning from the salt and from his tears, he dragged himself to his feet, bowed his head and gently kissed the pool of water cupped between his trembling fingers.  
“Farewell my brother,” he whispered as he tossed it back into the ever-surging sea. “Namárië.”


End file.
